


You and Me (We're Gonna Make It)

by oftheashtree



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Feelings, Heavy Angst, Hurt Clint Barton, Idiots in Love, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftheashtree/pseuds/oftheashtree
Summary: Clint and Phil have been Clint-and-Phil since they were in diapers. They grew up together, joined the army together, and - when it came time - got deployed together. Phil's the best communications officer the Army's ever seen, and Clint? He's the best bomb technician in the world. 
As it turns out, even he can't save Phil from an IED in the middle of the desert. 
18 months later, Clint goes home to an empty apartment and an answering machine full of confessions.





	

Clint and Phil's apartment door swings open with an ominous creak. Makes sense, given that it hasn't been opened in over 18 months. Despite several offers from friends and family, he and Phil hadn't really seen the need to have anyone check in on the apartment while they were deployed. What were they going to check on, really? The mail was forwarded to Phil's parents' house, they didn't have anything worth stealing... The only things valuable in that apartment were the people that filled it, and those people left when he and Phil did. 

He's distantly appalled at the dust settled on top of every visible surface. Phil would be in a fit if - 

Well. It's best to leave that still-open wound alone. 

Clint lets his duffel bag thud to the ground next to the front door and moves through the apartment on auto pilot. He switches on a few lights, flicks the kitchen tap on to make sure the water runs clear, plugs in the fridge and the microwave and the coffee machine. The voicemail on their home phone is blinking, so he dials in and listens to a handful of messages from months ago. His mom, Phil's parents - and doesn't that hurt like a bitch - , a few telemarketers, and - 

"Hi Clint," Phil's tired voice says from the machine. Ice winds its way around his heart and squeezes, and Clint wonders how it can feel so painful after all this time. He dashes away the few tears that well up in his eyes and pays attention because he'd wondered for months who Phil had called during those last few moments. "It's me, but I guess you probably know that." 

Clint closes his eyes, picturing Phil in the heat of the desert, stock still and pale despite his tan. He'd spent those last few hours terrified, no doubt, trying not to move an inch or even shift his weight to avoid setting off the IED under his feet. 

"I, uh, well I wanted to call you up, but now I'm thinking it might be more painful to hear what I'm about to say after all." For a moment, Clint's sure that that's the extent of the message. Silence stretches on and on, and he waits with bated breath. Phil goes on. 

"Turns out I'm more of a selfish bastard than I thought because I can't go without saying this, so I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. First of all, I want you to take care of Felix for me," Phil says shakily. Clint pictures Phil's fluffy calico, all sharp teeth and fervent cuddles, and smiles in spite of the tears he can feel tracking down his face. "My mom'll probably insist on keeping her at first, but I want you to take her because I think she'll probably end up making Mom sad in the end." 

Clint aches. 

"And I'm sorry about the apartment - it probably wasn't a good idea for us to room together, what with this always a threat of happening. I hope you can find someone to take my room or, I don't know, you might actually end up moving... That's what I would do." Phil heaves a heavy sigh. 

"Sorry, I don't have long now, I think. I can see you over with the squad, waving your arms around." Phil huffs out a laugh, "Probably drumming up all sorts of crazy ass plans to save my stupid ass." His voice gets thick, and he clears his throat roughly. "That's why I have to do this, you know? I, uh, I got myself into this mess, Clint. I knew better, but I was so..." Phil's voice gets real tight and he trails off. 

Clint's heart hammers in his chest, pleading with each word for this not to be the end. 

"Anyway, I needed to call you to tell you - " 

The machine times out and a robotic voice asks Clint if he wants to save the voicemail. He lunges to the machine and stabs the button to save it even as his heart breaks into a million pieces. Then, a miracle. 

"Ah, shit," Phil's voice says from the machine. "Timed out, sorry. I had to call back." He clears his throat again and Clint's closes up in sympathy. 

"I needed to call to tell you something because I have, like, the worst luck in the whole world. This is some sorta cosmic joke, Clint, I'm telling you because I had just decided," Phil's voice gets real shaky and he emphasizes, " _just decided_ this morning that I was gonna tell you. I'm not kidding. It was while we were playing soccer, and I saw how your face lit up, and I knew I couldn't keep it in any longer. I woulda told you then, but we got called out and now I'm in this mess and I know it might be my time, Clint, but I can't go without telling you." 

Clint wants to scream at past-Phil; tell him what!? 

Phil gives a little shaky sigh, "I love you, Clint. I love you so much, and I know this is gonna be the most selfish thing I've ever done in my whole life, but I can't let you get hurt and I _know_ you - if I let you come back down here into the hot zone, if I let you put into action whatever fool plan you're concocting up there, I'm gonna live." 

Clint nearly doubles over, feeling kicked in the gut by this confession that came too late. 

"You'll save me, Clint," Phil says fiercely, "I know it. You're too good at what you do not to." 

Clint wants to scream now for an entirely different reason, anger and pain welling up in his lungs. 

"So, I'll live," Phil says, "but if I know you, you'll save me at the expense of yourself, and I can't let you do that. That's why I'm selfish." Phil speaks faster now, trying to get ahead of the machine's time limit. "I'm selfish because I can lift my foot off this damn thing and get blown all to smithereens and it'll be _worth it_ because you're up there out of range and you're safe. But if I let you come down here and save me, I'll live, but you probably won't, and I can't bear a world without you in it, Clint, I just can't do it." 

Phil's voice gets all rough and pleading. "So I love you, and I'm so goddamn sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, and I'm sorry that you're gonna have to go home and hear this after the fact and I'm sorry you probably don't feel the same, and it's okay! It's okay that you don't feel the same! Don't - don't feel guilty, Clint, please. Just - this was just something I had to do. I just needed to tell you." 

Clint is shaking, has to grab the wall to keep from falling over, and Jesus, but he's gonna make himself sick like this. 

"Anyway, that's what I needed to say: I love you, and I don't want you to be sad." Phil's quiet for a moment. "Alright, well, I've gotta get going. It looks like you're about to come barreling down here any minute now, and we can't have that. Love you, Clint. Bye." 

The message ends and Clint can't even respond when robot-lady asks if he wants to save the message. He didn't know this was coming, couldn't have anticipated this punch in the gut, but it's here, right here on his answering machine. Pain wells in his chest, and he can't breathe. The idea of the rest of his life without Phil overcomes him and for a moment it's all he can do not to scream and scream until this unimaginable pain stops. 

"Clint?" The same voice floats from the front door and Clint can't even try to pull himself together. "Ah, shit." 

"Phil," Clint chokes out. That future without Phil was almost his reality, and it hurts so goddamn much because he _knows_ __how close Phil was to death. He sat at Phil's bedside for all those months, went with him to session after session of physical therapy, and held him when he cried, beaten down and depressed. He was so __ __ _close_ __to that reality and it scares the shit out of him.

His best friend creaks over hesitantly, balancing carefully on the state-of-the-art prosthesis that have replaced his legs - one just below the knee, the other starting at the hip. He's pale from the walk up the stairs, not quite up to full health even after over a year of physical therapy. 

Clint can't blame him, the man did have his heart bisected by a hefty piece of shrapnel not 18 months prior. 

"Jesus, I'd forgotten about those messages," Phil says with a nervous laugh. He pulls Clint to his feet and just barely catches him when Clint throws himself into Phil's arms. 

"You're so stupid," Clint mumbles. He hugs the man as tight as he can, grateful for the technology that kept Phil alive, the mysterious benefactors that provided millions of dollars to save this idiot's life. He tucks his face against Phil's neck and repeats, "So, so stupid." 

Phil hugs him back tentatively. 

"I know," Phil agrees. "I didn't expect you to return my feelings, but like I said, I was being selfish." 

Clint hugs him tighter. "No, you idiot," he protests. 

After another moment, he pulls away and catches Phil's repentant face in his hands. He swoops forward to kiss him, slow and worshipful. 

"You're an idiot," he mumbles against Phil's mouth, "because I love you, too." 

Phil pulls away and caresses Clint's cheek with his non-dominant hand, still wary of the silver prosthetic that has replaced his right hand even after all these months. "You do?" he asks, wonderingly. 

Clint presses their foreheads together. "Of course I do. What, you think I spent a year and a half in a hospital in Germany while you recovered because I like you as a friend? Or maybe you think I was 'just being a bro' when I asked you to move in with me? Or maybe, maybe it was how I vowed I'd get you out of that hellhole no matter what that convinced you that I'd put you firmly in the friend-zone?" Clint's laughing now, something that Phil's glad for. 

He grins shyly at Clint and presses forward for another kiss. Clint happily gives it to him. 

"You're an idiot," Clint repeats against his mouth, "and I love you."

They've got months - years, maybe - to go before either of them is really fully recovered. They'll be honorably discharged together, and they'll fight their way through weeks of soul-deep depression and nights filled with PTSD-induced panic attacks. They'll heal together, maybe adopt another pet - Clint wants a dog this time - and someday, maybe even someday soon, they'll be approached by an old friend of Phil's named Nick Fury, and they'll save the world the way they do everything else: together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus.
> 
> Okay, so I realize that several things in this work of fiction are impossible in Real Life. Please suspend your disbelief and appreciate this for what it is: a story. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or any affiliated whatevers.


End file.
